CHAPTER XLV.
Under the direction of Megret and Arwed, the preparations for breaking up the nest of robbers were made with great ability and circumspection. The ten dragoons stationed at Umea were privately summoned to Gyllensten, and the neighboring peasantry, who were collected together under the pretext of a grand wolf-hunt, were distributed among them and the governor's foresters and gamekeepers. The little force thus collected, numbering about eighty men, were divided into two commands under Megret and Arwed, and started the next night in many separate divisions, which, though connected by patroles, presented no one conspicuous mass which could excite the suspicions of the brigands. Whilst Megret proceeded in this manner directly towards Ravensten, Arwed sought to reach the other side of the rocks by a circuitous route, so as to cut off any attempted retreat to the neighboring mountains. The movement was successfully accomplished. Just before sun-rise the two divisions almost simultaneously reached the foot of the Ravensten, and slowly and cautiously ascended the narrow rocky passes. They arrived at the summit without meeting with any obstruction. There, one of the robber sentinels, being aroused, made a stand and shot down one of the dragoons by Arwed's side. The shot not only awakened the winged denizens of Ravensten, who rose affrighted and screaming into the air, but also occasioned a movement in the towers, and about twenty of the half naked brigands rushed out with such arms as they could first seize in the confusion of the moment, and fell upon the assailants. The strife was furious on both sides, but victory finally inclined in favor of the greater number of the assailing party;--want of experience was compensated by the circumspection and bravery of their leaders, and the brigands were yielding ground, when a small, fresh band, came forth to the battle and renewed the fight. At their head was a tall, well-formed man, with a dark-colored face, who first fired his pistols among the assailants, and then with great fury fell upon the peasants, sword in hand, 'That is Black Naddock!' they cried, every where retreating before him. The dragoons and foresters, however, kept their ground, and the battle raged with increased fierceness.
'That is the man who saved my life on the road to Tornea!' cried Arwed to Megret.
'It is Mac Donalbain, artificially blackened!' exclaimed the latter with envenomed scorn, attempting to fight his way to his hated rival; but some of the brigands threw themselves before him, and kept him fully employed; whilst Arwed constantly pressed nearer and nearer to the blackamoor, and soon discovered the well-known features through his disguise.
'Yield, Mac Donalbain, the victory is ours!' cried Arwed, attacking him.
'It is better to die by the sword of a brave nobleman than upon the scaffold!' exclaimed Mac Donalbain, suddenly exposing his uncovered breast to Arwed's blade.
'God forbid!' cried Arwed, checking the descending blow. 'I am no murderer!' But at that moment Megret, having disencumbered himself of his troublesome opponents, hurled the Scot to the earth.
'At last!' triumphantly exclaimed Megret, setting his foot upon the breast of his fallen foe and slowly raising his sword for the death-stroke with an infernal smile....
At that moment a woman in a peasant's dress and with a child in her arms, rushed forward with an agonizing shriek. Wildly floated the rich blond locks about her white forehead, which strangely contrasted with the bloom of the rosy faced infant. 'Christine!' cried the terrified Arwed.
'Mercy!' shrieked the unhappy woman. 'Mercy for my husband, for the father of this child!'
'You know not what you ask, madam Mac Donalbain!' said Megret, scornfully. 'Whoever is well disposed towards you and your house, cannot do a better thing than speedily to help you to a widow's veil.' He aimed a blow,--but Arwed opportunely struck up his sword and forced him back.
'Mac Donalbain is a prisoner!' cried the youth with noble indignation. 'From this moment he stands under the protection of the law, to which he is amenable, and you have no right to take his life.'
'Ah, Arwed, you are indeed always yourself!' sobbed Christine, falling at his feet with her child.
'Such generous subtlety,' said Megret, putting up his sword, 'becomes loathsome to me when practically applied in the important affairs of life.'
'In this case, generosity is more cruel than malignity!' cried Mac Donalbain, closing his eyes from exhaustion by loss of blood.
Meantime the right had fully conquered. Fifteen of the robbers had fallen in the fight, and seven had madly thrown themselves from the summit and found the death they hoped to escape, upon the sharp cliffs of Ravensten. The remainder, twelve in number, struck with terror by the fall of their chief, threw down their arms and begged for mercy.
Whilst Megret caused the prisoners to be bound together in couples, Mac Donalbain was by Arwed's direction conveyed into the lower vault of the tower, and his wounds taken care of.
Arwed then turned to Christine, who had followed them to the tower. 'Wretched woman,' cried he, grasping her powerfully, 'where is thy father?'
Christine pointed speechlessly to a corner of the cave-like room, and then threw herself in silent wretchedness upon Mac Donalbain's couch of sorrow.
Arwed hastened to the designated spot, found and sprung a trap door there, which opened into the rocky cellar of the castle. A long, winding staircase conducted him to a subterranean but well lighted room, where, still paler and weaker than when he last saw him, his poor old uncle met his view.
'My son! my preserver!' cried the old man, with outspread arms.
'Thank God, my object is accomplished!' exclaimed Arwed, with heartfelt joy. 'Yet once more has my melancholy existence been rendered really useful in the world.'
'Alas, that it has been accomplished!' cried the uncle with deep despondency, 'Rather would I have found, here an unknown and unhonored grave, than meet the overwhelming shame which must henceforth rest upon my noble name in my native land!'